Unlocking the Ocean
by SwanforCaptain
Summary: *currently rewriting ch 5* Captain Swan AU. Begins with them meeting in highschool. Emma Swan was a delinquent; having no where to turn, she moves herself to the quiet town of Storybrooke, where she'd spent her early years in the system. The ocean vaguely reminded her of her innocence; however, she found someone in this town who changed her perspective of the ocean; Killian Jones.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The dirty yellow bug chugged its way into the student lot of Brooke Memorial High School. Its driver slouched inside, slowly turning down the lanes, searching for a space to fill. To her astonishment, one spot was left underneath the vibrant apple tree which stood by the entrance.

_BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!_

She wasn't able to pull in, as a swift black Cadillac slid into place, blasting its horn, proclaiming that this was its turf. Eventually the bug was parked next to a dying magnolia tree at the soccer field. The bug wheezed to a standstill and its driver exited and locked it up in what all seemed to be the same second. Her golden hair whipped around as she turned to face the school. The girl's fine-rimmed glasses framed her deftly carved features, her mossy green eyes, eyes that were sharp with determination and a bit of mystery.

The front doors arched before her, made of a stone that one might expect to find in a medieval European castle. She slung her _Peter Pan _book bag over her shoulder and shuffled to the main desk. She wasn't a dreamer, per say, but still, the fairytale held a small part of her heart, an achy little corner, worn with tear. The man at the front desk did not acknowledge her at first, as he was too busy skimming over a book called _Mythology for Dummies_. She looked at the name plate on his desk.

"Mr. Glass?" I inquired impatiently.

His eyes peeled themselves with deliberate slowness from his reading. "May I assist you this morning?" he asked half-heartedly.

"This is my first day so, yes."

She had just moved here from Tallahassee. All her life she'd been flying from foster home to orphanage and back again in a vicious cycle; Tallahassee had seemed like it'd be where she'd land. It had been, for awhile, until she and her ex-boyfriend had a little… scuffle. So, she'd taken it upon herself, though only seventeen, to move somewhere new, far from Tallahassee; so naturally she went north, all the way up to Maine.

"Your name?" Mr. Glass spoke monotonously.

"Swan, Emma," she told him, clutching the pendant around her neck. The one to which she stubbornly held on to.

He gave Emma a long, hard look as he reviewed her papers, clearly not as interesting as his little self-help book. "Out of juvenile detention recently, I see? Stilt's Youth House?"

Quite frankly, she didn't care to discuss her past; that's why she was here and not there. Reluctantly she nodded and tilted her lips up into a not-quite smile.

"I'm afraid I don't have your schedule here, you'll need to go to the dean's office. It's there, directly to your right," he told her, half pointing-half waving in the general direction. Mr. Humbert's office door was wide open, a fluorescent light escaping into the corridor. Emma knocked, expecting to see a balding man in his 40s, just like the stereotypical creeper deans before this one. To her delightful surprise, a scruffy young man, one whom she assumed was fresh out of college, swiveled around from his computer screen, his intelligent eyes boring into her as if to interrogate. Still, she could not deny that the man was handsome, stubble and all, though it seemed "unprofessional"- not to mention the wolf plush which crouched in the corner.

"I'm Emma Swan. First day. Here to get my schedule. And possibly a map," she told him.

"Welcome, Emma. I have to say that we're excited to have you. New students don't come to town very often."

"Probably because the docks make the whole county smell like dead fish," Emma said reluctantly. Mr. Humbert let out a small huff of a laugh and handed her a pile of papers.

"You'll need to sign these… I see you are your own guardian?"

"Yeah, went to court and got it all straightened out, but you probably know everything from my transcripts and all."

He nodded calmly as she signed the documents. Setting the pen back on his desk, Mr. Humbert encouraged that she keep it. He handed her a "Brooke Memorial Pirates" sweatshirt, a free notebook, and sent her on her way. Unfolding the map of the school, she examined her class schedule:

_First Hour- English & Literature_

_Second Hour- Geography_

_Third Hour- Creative Writing_

_Fourth Hour- Music Appreciation_

_Lunch_

_Fifth Hour- Pre Calculus_

_Sixth Hour- Physical Education_

Much less than excited, Emma climbed the oak staircase to find her locker, a crummy old thing which could barely hold her jacket. She'd have to keep it on all day anyway, dress code and all- she wore spaghetti straps underneath. So caught up in her own thoughts she almost failed to notice the… how should it be described, the roguish decoration peeking from her neighbor's locker. A pirate flag, skull and crossbones and all, had managed to wedge itself into the open. She heard a tsk from behind her. "Have to tell Mr. Jones to stop his decorating again". Emma turned to see another boy, probably a senior as well, whose looks could only be described as charming, superior.

"Ah, well, I've know crazier people," Emma sighed, throwing the locker door closed. The boy reached out a hand. "David Nolan, Senior Class President".

"Well shit. I hate monarchy."

David stood there, looking aloof and shell shocked. "Well, whatever it takes to get into Princeton."

"It's one of those schools with one of those boys, exactly what I needed."

A new voice- "What you need is to get to class, Miss Swan." The young lady had a regal aura about her; she was the one with the Cadillac from the parking lot.

"What the hell, you know my name already? Rumors," Emma shrugged, "they mill about like that."

"Actually, I'm the class VP… therefore I know everyone." she chimed.

David cleared his throat. "This is Regina Mills… Senior VP." Damn. He was maintaining all of the composure he could manage around this self-proclaimed queen of the school. Regina smiled sinisterly at Emma and shook her hand. "Well, good luck with your classes! I hope you do fine, I bet your GPA could use a bit of improvement…" With that she left.

"Bitch," Emma stated.

"What?"

"'Bitch'".

With that, Emma glided off to class.

Literature. They would be studying Shakespeare. Hoorah. Of course it so happened that Regina would be in that class, as well as a teacher's pet that doubled as library assistant, Mary-Margaret. The name itself left bile in Emma's throat.

Geography. Mapping islands, because that's fucking useful, as if she'd end up stranded somewhere; as if she'd ever be able to leave this hell-hole now that she was here.

Creative writing, now this she could get into. Well, that is, if the gangly rebel beside her would stop doodling obscenities on his desk.

"I see you're not gay," Emma began.

The young man's face tilted up, his thin lips breaking a dangerous grin as he bit his tongue between his lips, adding the last bit of detail to his doodle.

"I'm also going to assume that isn't for an art class?"

"No- Anatomy," his sly voice broke with a slightly dark chuckle. He scratched the stubble of his chin as he examined his work. "A beauty, aye lass? Will it get me an A, you think?"

Shit.

He was Irish.

But she wouldn't let but a simple voice catch her off guard, not when she was still so freshly wounded. She heard the tip of his eraser dancing on her desk as he begged for a response.

"It's B material," Emma shrugged, pulling out her notebook.

"Tough to impress, high standards. I do fancy that in a woman. Killian Jones, my dear," he announced, extending his hand to her. Who the hell even shook hands these days outside of church or meeting the president? She eyed him curiously, and that was now a mistake in her book. The very moment she saw the seas of his eyes her breath hitched, words caught, and heart dropped, sending a wave of fire to her cheeks; she was sure she looked like a deer in headlights; possibly even Rudolph caught in headlights, blush pending.

Silently she cursed her poor judgment, her failure to ignore her surroundings, earn her credits and get out. Clearly this _boy _was trouble. Then again, she'd been fooled in the past.

Her ex-boyfriend, Neal, well, he'd fooled her damn good. He'd dressed like the boy next store, and in a way he was. But there was also the part of him that convinced her to steal some less-than legal beverages from the local food pantry, which resulted in an old woman catching them and crying for the cops. Turns out, there was a sheriff nearby. Fucking lucky days. Neal, however, was off like a shot, as if he'd jumped through a portal and landed somewhere unreachable. He probably changed his name by now and moved to some remote land of his own.

He was nineteen. She was fifteen.

And he'd gotten her pregnant.

He didn't know.

He never would.

Eventually, Emma realized that she'd been scribbling notes about her misadventures on her paper; she wadded it up without hesitation and threw it to the trashcan, missing, but she missed everything, so she didn't give it any thought.

Killian watched her as she stared at the blank page. "I could provide some inspiration, if you'd like," he suggested.

"Hell no. You're not exactly… awe inspiring." She breathed the words harshly.

"That's where you're wrong, lass. Maybe step back and really look at me."

Rolling her eyes, she assessed him in her peripheral vision: moppy black hair, thick and ruffled; those eyes that contained the ocean; the stubble; the simple attire of black v-neck, one which showed his chest hair poking out, the tight black pants, leather boots, a few necklaces dangling from him neck; one skull, a hook, and a sword.

Yeah,

She was wrong.

He looked gritty, handsome, _dangerous._

Even when she wasn't attracted to danger, danger was attracted to _her._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Emma was unable to appreciate the music which shot through the air as she entered the music classroom- it was just about as country as one could get. An old woman sat at her little desk, wearing a quaint little shawl, surfing the internet with Bing. Emma found her seat at the front, next to a young girl dressed in a crimson hoodie and red skinny jeans, along with red converse, lipstick, and earrings shaped like a crescent moon. On the red girl's opposite side, a mangy skater boy sat, and he caressed the girl's face with his fingertips.

"Ruby Lucas. You will make that boy stop or I'll fail you both," the old woman said as she began cleaning her glasses. In struck Emma as funny to learn that this teacher's name was Ms. Lucas. Silently she apologized to the poor girl who had to take the class of who was, presumably, her grandmother. At her grandmother's objection to their PDA, Ruby huffed and puffed in aggravation as the bell rang.

The teacher motioned for someone to come up from the back of the room. She introduced him, saying, "As many of you know, I am not quite the singer I used to be. Nor was I really ever. I'm just here to keep an eye on my little Red," she played, making Ruby blow the hair from her face in annoyance at this hag's disrespect for her social status. "Today I have brought in a young talent, one whom you may already know; he's a singer, guitar player, and sadly not my style. However, I know my style clashes greatly with all that is hip these days so, I digress," she waved the guest to the front. "Killian Jones."

Half-hearted claps echoed across the still room, punching Emma in the face. Killian strode directly past her to the stage. As he set himself on the stool to begin his destined-to-produce-snores performance, he glanced up at Emma. He winked. _Fucking hell. His eyebrows. _

His brows so perfectly framed the waves of his eyes, their edges crinkling in a little grin at Emma's annoyance. He cleared his throat; "As we all know, I am quite Shakespearean when it comes to romance; likewise, I will be performing a love song, one which I've heard a few times on the television screen. It's by one of my personal favorite groups, The Airborne Toxic Event."

Emma scoffed, leaning back and crossing her arms in frustration and disbelief. She hated sitting still, awkwardly watching as someone else poured out their mushy emotions onto her. That's why the only concerts she'd ever been to she'd been to for the alcohol. She sure could use some right now, she mused.

Strumming started off softly but heartfelt; like a tight embrace from which one could still back out of; but as soon as his milk and honey-sweet accented voice flew from his mouth, Emma was entranced. She felt fire twisting around her, yet she shuddered a bit. _Screw this, screw him, _she told herself, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a meager glance, any acknowledgement that he was actually there, mere feet in front of her,

_We are, we are,_

_We are timeless, timeless;_

_Everything we have, we have, _

_Everything, oh my God,_

The chorus caused her to lift her stiff neck; her mouth was agape as she felt the song; it's essence, raw emotion, the lyrics…

_You are, you are,_

_The only thing that makes me feel like_

_I could live forever, forever with you_

_My love._

There were probably cheers, a few wolf-whistles, some words said in congratulations; she didn't hear them. She heard a heartbeat, but it was too steady, too _certain _to be her own. Killian's eyes bore into her for what felt like indefinable time; she heard the clock tik-tok, but it all faded out, was hazy, irregular, much like her emotions. She was swimming in the ocean of his eyes. As he left the classroom, he turned, looking Emma in the eyes. "I hope you all enjoyed. Take care," he called in farewell.

The door had closed but he still peeked in, staring right at Emma. A wink, a smooch left in the air, and a small chuckle, and then he was gone.

Shitty classes made way for shitty muck served in a shitty cafeteria with no goddamned seats open; it seemed like everyone had their place.

"Emma Swan, how are your classes?" The Irish voice, at first, made her bite her lip, but she then noticed the less rueful quality of the tone and realized it was the dean.

"I mean, alright. It seems pretty slack here. I appreciate that." Oh. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. Praise from a delinquent usually means that whatever said delinquent praised was below the bar.

"Nice to hear. Got any friends to sit with?" he asked, gesturing to the seat beside him. She groaned; yeah, he was hot, but getting caught sitting with a member of the staff on the first day doesn't really make you, per say, someone a somebody wants to get to know.

She awkwardly chewed her stale bagel, leaving off the spoiled cream cheese. Not worth it. She noticed how the dean, for such a lean man, ate mostly meat: a burger topped with bacon, and a few chicken strips on the side. He was positively ravenous and she was slightly uncomfortable next to his rampant jaws.

"Emma was it?" a kind voice offered. Emma peered up, mouth stuffed with dough, as she scanned the girl in front of her. She knew she'd seen her earlier. Short, with cropped black hair; concerned eyes, a delicate chin, grandma clothes. Maybe she shared closets with Ms. Lucas.

"Mary-Margaret, we didn't get a chance to greet each other earlier." Her smile was warm and icky, like a humid Tallahassee day. Emma didn't even feign good cheer as she wiped of her hand, covered in crumbs, and shook Mary-Margaret's, lacking any resolve to continue their blossoming friendship.

"Ah, Emma, Miss Blanchard is the library assistant; she helps shelve books and print papers, run copies, you know," Mr. Humbert said, clearly suggesting _Go, make yourself useful. _Still, he seemed kind-hearted, and Emma was tired of the many glances she'd received since entering the lunch room.

"Come and join me, Emma, it could be fun, just the two of us! I love getting to know new people; we don't get many here in Storybrooke."

_Probably because your shining smile blinds them and they can't find the turn._

Emma slouched as she carried her books downstairs; why the library was in the basement, she hadn't a clue; maybe to add to the effect of boredom. A large paper-mache dragon guarded the dusty entrance.

"You like reading? Who's your favorite author? I like the classics; Sleeping Beauty, Snow White-"

"Y'know that each of the seven dwarves represents a symptom of drug use? Sleepy, Sneezy, Happy… and no, I don't do reading."

"Your book bag begs to differ", she observed, taking interest in Emma's Peter Pan bag.

"It's more for the movie than the book," Emma lied. In truth, she'd been reading novels from a young age- it was all she had, books. Her foster families never got her much, but a library card was one thing that she always clung to; they probably only gave it to her to get her out of the house, but she still loved it. She loved being swept away to a new world… a different life.

This was why she didn't want to come to this library- she hadn't been to one since before her arrest. It stung.

"You should definitely try to read more, these stories are what keep me going. I'm kind of an outcast, you know-"

"Most teachers pets are," Emma snickered. Seeing the hurt on Mary-Margaret's face, she cleared her throat and looked down in apology.

"Anyway… these books. They give me hope. Just the thought, the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."

"It sounds great and all, don't get me wrong, I'd love to meet some prince who was actually noble and worth the time and heartache, but this isn't an enchanted forest, this ain't Neverland. This here is reality."

"Reality can be whatever you make it. You're the protagonist of your own story. Don't let someone else write it," Mary-Margaret told her.

"Got any whiteout for the past? My story could use some editing. It's still a rough-draft." Emma grazed he fingers along the shelves, taking in the musty old smell of books, the smell of home.

"Emma, you can't go back and edit; but as you become a better writer, you won't have to. You'll know exactly what you're doing."

"Can I send myself to Narnia?" Emma asked, tone laced with sarcasm.

"You can try!"

Her mind raced during pre-cal; she was asked to find 'X' and was swept away in her own fantasies, with "x marks the spot" on a pirate's map. Unfortunately, math revealed no buried treasure, no trinkets, gold or jewels.

Having P.E. at the end of the day was nice; she could sweat off her nerves, try to run from the face that kept on popping into her every thought.

As she ran, she realized that the ocean was hounding her heart; she couldn't outrun the waves. She'd have to build a dam to break its thunder.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

This really wasn't working. No matter how hard Emma tried, fitting into a normal day-to-day life, and society in general, was simply a flop. Her bug stood on the gravel parking space in the lot of an abandoned strip mall- she was on her own, this was her home now. She had enough money to pay for an old flip phone, some gas, and food. She'd showered at the school, using their cheap soap and stealing the shampoo from another girl's locker. She was so done with this. She bunched up her bag into a make-shift pillow and lay back, staring at her pre-cal book, lacking the energy or focus to flip it open; she did have the energy, however, to flip it off.

That's when she noticed the hooded figure waltzing about the lot, a duffle bag cascading over its shoulder; from the posture and height, she guessed that this shadow was a man. Possibly a dangerous one, at that; most were, in her experiences. She reached under her seat and pulled out the small dagger which she kept- in actuality, it had been a gardening tool once, but she'd altered it to fit more practical uses.

Pressing herself flush against the cold siding of the building, she crouched, holding her dagger in a firm grip. She made not a sound as she slid around the corner in time to see the criminal ease himself through a back door, entering the old store. A broken sign reading "Nova's Mattresses" slanted crooked across the door. Emma slipped inside after him; the precision of her movements was adept- the man didn't have a clue that she was even there.

They were in the back office, no windows, only cinderblock walls and a few desks hosting unplugged PCs. The figure turned on the light, sat in a swiveling desk chair, and sighed. The rough sound gave her chills. What absolutely froze her into place, however, was his hair as he pulled down his gray hood. Dark brown, almost black- a bit ruffled, but not in need of a trim.

Then she noticed the guitar sitting in the corner.

_Jones._

What on earth was he doing here? Obviously he wasn't stealing anything- no teenage boy in his right mind would want an old PC from '95, as the sticker claimed. She watched Killian closely as he shuffled over to the guitar and strummed once- it was terribly out of tune, she realized. Probably because one of the strings was broken.

"Bloody Regina…" He sat the guitar upon his lap, gently stroking a mark which appeared to be an autograph. He swallowed thickly, looking up into the mirror resting on the adjacent wall.

_The mirror!_

Emma hadn't even seen it; she'd been too preoccupied with _him_, with Jones, to even notice that her now stunned face was reflected on its surface.

She turned and ran.

"Hey! Lass, wait! I know it was you!" The voice beckoned for her return, but she didn't dare. She hopped into her bug, about to thrust the old thing into drive when the passenger door opened. Yeah, this thing didn't lock automatically…which she'd forgotten in her rush. This resulted in a smirk from Killian.

It was weird, how his quirky grin made her take out the keys, turning off the ignition in surrender.

"Bloody hell, Swan. Those are so lean legs you've got on you. It was quite a challenge to catch up with you in time."

Emma let out an "uggh", laying her forehead against the cold steering wheel. She then felt delicate fingers running through her locks. She quickly turned her eyes over to Killian, giving him her signature 'you're a dead man' look. "Jones, what were you doing out here? Shouldn't you be home, in your recording studio, surrounded by willing fangirls?"

"I have no fangirls, not anymore. But that is another story. Besides, that old store is my home, my _studio_."

Emma cackled in disbelief. "Killian Jones, self proclaimed ladies-man and rock star, lives at Nova's Mattresses?" She almost snorted.

"I never claimed to be a ladies' man, Swan. But it's sure nice to know that's how you see me…" there was silence for a moment as Emma started cleaning her glasses, trying to ignore the hot breath lingering in her stuffy bug.

"There are beds in my store, you know. It's certainly better than this, I'd presume," he pleaded with her, demonstrating how his head nearly hit the roof. Sadly, it didn't. Maybe if he'd hit his head he'd leave.

"No thanks, bud, I've got all I need here," she told him, turning to the side and wrapping herself in a white blanket embroidered with purple lettering.

"My door is always open," he offered too kindly.

"Mine's not," she retorted, curling up deeper into her worn seat.

Killian sighed, stretching his arms behind him, offering a lovely view of his now exposed chest- he'd evidently taken off his sweatshirt, leaving but a deep v-neck to cover him.

Emma lay there for a moment in vain before realizing that, shit, this kid wasn't going to let her alone. "You say you've got beds in there?"

"It is a mattress store…" he winked.

"Fuck you, I'll go in. Just let me grab my bag-". Killian was already outside the car, giving her the opportune moment to start the ignition and fly off into the dusk without him. Yet something in her didn't allow that to happen.

"This bag?" came his muffled voice from outside. Killian held up the Peter Pan tote she'd brought to school with her, which now smelled like a plethora of perfumes, regards to the girl's locker tomb. She stepped out into the darkness, still clutching the blanket, and yanked it from his grasp- rather_, attempted_ to yank it. "What, you don't like a challenge?" His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise.

"Just hand me the frickin' bag," Emma demanded.

"Tsk tsk. Pushy are we, love?"

"Do not call me love!" Emma called back as she made her way to the entrance.

She set her bag down on a springy mattress at the back of the show room, Killian keeping a watchful eye on her movements as she smacked the pillows, trying to make them at least somewhat cloud like.

"Wonder why Nova's went out of business, lass?"

Emma gave him a short, fiery glare, meeting his eyes for only a second; that's all it took to put out her fire. She fell back on the itchy mattress and put her hands up as if to respond "why" to his question.

"'tis because these sodding mattresses are fit for ogres. I did find one, however, one which you may find to your liking…" He suggestively eyed her, patting one of the mattresses farther up towards the main doors.

"Let me guess, it's _yours_," Emma said flatly.

"Smart lass, quick on your wits," the Irish boy chuckled, taking off his boots, nonchalantly chucking them aside. "Care to get a feel?"

"No thanks creep."

"Oi! I'm hurt by you, Emma! Well then, I'll take the mattress you're on, you take mine. A jolly soft deal, yes?"

She stood up from the hard pillows and slouched her way over to Killian's side, flinging her things down. "Oh, being a gentleman, are you?"

"You seem to be more tuckered out than I am; and yes, I'm always a gentleman."

"Inspiring."

"I'm so gentlemanly that my chivalry transcends!" He crawled onto the other bed, lying sideways in that draw_ me like one of your French girls _position.

"Charmed," Emma said before conking out. Perhaps it was because it _was _a "Jolly-good mattress" that she slept better than she had for a long time; maybe it was because she was just so tired from dealing with people again. Or, perhaps, it could've been because she wasn't entirely alone.

She was torn from slumber by the clanging of something in the back of her car. _Oh wait… the back of the store… because I'm in an abandoned mattress firm, sleeping with Killian Jones. _Well, not really sleeping _with _him in that sense, but to her it was just as displeasing. She rolled over and looked out the front windows: her bug was still nestled on the lot, dawn barely peeking over the rim of the docks in the distance.

"Jones!" she yelled, stiffly making her way to the back. Maybe she hadn't slept as well as she had originally thought.

"Yes love? Just making breakfast!" His witty voice came from what she presumed was the old break room. He'd set out a box of pop tarts, and the out-dated toaster was bustling away, trying to heat them.

"A chef? Wow, how did I get so damn lucky." It was really more of a statement than a question, something that earned a dark, chiding look; but as soon as their eyes met, it gave way to tiny, awkward smiles from the both of them.

"Oh just you wait, love, I've got more talents than a lady could ever dream up. Some are more… _instinct_ than actual talent. Some are gifted with an inborn _knack _for certain things-"

The toaster dinged, shooting the pop tarts up in the air; Killian caught both within his hands. "Not toasty as I'd like, but luke-warm."

"That's fine, then, I'll just grab something from the vending machines-"

"But I worked so hard!" Killian teased her, giving her puppy eyes and brows simultaneously. He handed her the stale pastries. "Not quite fir for a princess, hm?"

"Trust me, buddy, I ain't a princess."

"Ah, lass, but that is where you're terribly wrong!" With that, Killian exited the room, not taking any food for himself. Emma was left standing there, staring at the iced rectangles without really seeing them.

"The hell does he see in me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Emma had begrudgingly offered Killian a ride to school, feeling she might owe him for allowing her to enter his make-shift home last night. He declined, claiming that he enjoyed starting every morning by walking along the docks on his way to school. "Well, wouldn't want to interrupt your quiet time," Emma stated bluntly, hopping into the chilly bug.

"Feel like joining me? You'll be very much appreciated, if you do." He gave her a cocky smile and bit his lower lip. "Saves the lass some money on gas, eh?" Emma responded by turning the key, causing the old engine to gag as it awoke to the frosty dawn. The sky was cerulean; it was lovely, Emma thought to herself as she buckled in. _Too bad I can't enjoy it; I'll just have to enjoy the roads._

_Or I could walk._

Shaking her head at her own dismay, she switched off the car and shoved the keys into her jacket pocket. She reached back to grab her bag when- _fuck him. _Emma looked into the rearview, watching Jones' defined form descend the steps of the dock, a familiar bag draped across his shoulder alongside his own.

"Stealthy, I'll give him that." She slammed shut her door and charged after his disappearing figure. She reached the edge of the dock and saw him nonchalantly whistling along. "Jones! Cut the crap and get over here!" This caused him to turn on his heel, still whistling a tune; he held out her bag with his left hand. "Come 'ere, lass, I'm no crocodile, I won't bite!" He had noticed her hesitation as she approached; the reason was that, last time she'd been alone, charging after a boy, it had been Neal.

Still, something pushed her onward, onward to trust Killian and, whether she liked it or not, she _did _need her bag back. Aside from the blanket, it was the only item of worth that she owned. Once she made her way to him, she halted, gave him the once-over, and then swiped at her bag. He moved it higher, stretching himself out to his full height. "Really? You're acting like a school kid."

"I've always been a kid at heart! They say you never truly grow up," he commented wistfully.

"Well, I hate to break it to ya _kid, _but you've got to grow up if you want to survive this world. I know it well." She made an attempt at her bag again, only to be taken aback as Killian swerved around once again and started on his way.

"I am talking to you." Her pace quickened as she caught back up to him, watching his face.

"But grownups are so _boring, _lass," he grimaced melodramatically. "Isn't there anywhere we could go to stay not a grown up?"

"If you mean Neverland, then no; if only," she groaned.

"Who knows; this bloody hellhole exists, who's to say that there aren't other worlds?"

"A majority of the world's population." Emma crossed her arms and beckoned for her bag.

"Na, I got it, lass. Keeping up with my gentlemanly ways, y'know?"

"How chivalrous."

Their walk was peaceful, the morning tide calming Emma's nervous heart. Since they had begun walking in silence, enjoying the whistling of the gulls, she'd felt almost queasy. She felt as if she needed to say something, words, any, but couldn't find them, let alone the reason why she had such a deep need. Maybe it was because she hadn't been alone with anyone for such a long time, save from her parole officer and her shrink, Dr. Hopper.

"Jones," she finally said half-heartedly. His head turned, those eyes blending in with the early morning sky, a horizon which still held stars and the waning moon.

"Hmm?" He tilted his head to the side, looking at her speculatively.

"So," she started, "why exactly are you living in an abandoned strip mall?" It was honest curiosity.

"Likewise, why were you spending the night in your car?" He challengingly cocked a bushy brow.

"Fair enough," Emma said. "I moved here on my own. My earliest memories were from here, and I guess I wanted to return to what childhood, whatever 'innocence' I had."

"Says the lady who was so eager to grow into a woman," Killian pressed. Emma scoffed back at him in disbelief.

"Not judging, love, just seems that you're a bit lost, is all; I know a lost soul when I come across one."

"Oh really?" Her voice suddenly took upon an air of innocence; what was his story?

"Aye. I am one. To answer your previous question, I sleep there because my father… he isn't family." Emma expected him to stop, to revel in his own thoughts, but to her surprise he continued to open himself to her. "My mother was sick. She couldn't take care of me. My father, well, he'd left her soon as she'd found out about… about me. She put me into the system as a baby, and I sailed through many families; each of them had another boy, and each time I was so excited to make a new brother. Eventually, though, my father found out that I existed. Turns out he was furious. He contacted my then-foster home, negotiated with them, and ended up taking me. At first I was relieved; I didn't really ever have a place, but suddenly my father found me. But he was ashamed of me and… well; his house was no place to rest your head."

He stopped walking and lightly stroked Emma's arm. "Now, let's see… you've never known anything about your parents."

Emma began shaking; probably a lucky coincidence that he knew, but she listened as he continued reading her. "You fear having close relations of any type. The two people who were supposed to raise you, always be there by your side, never were."

"How the hell do you know that? You psychic or something?" She stumbled over her words- how did he see past her barriers?

"Nope, not like that at all, Swan. We're simply kindred spirits, may we say."

Trudging past the crowded parking lot, Emma was actually glad she decided, or, rather Killian decided for her, to walk. She didn't have to worry about the sassy queen bee Regina slashing her tires. That chick just came across as dark, despite her bright eyes and blinding bleached teeth.

Killian finally handed her the Peter Pan bag, gently setting it in her grasp, bowing slightly as he did so. "M'lady," he crooned in his damnable accent. Emma smiled at him as if he had a hook for a hand- was he actually _trying _to _impress_ her? Must've been something like that. But no matter, she thought, entering the school with Killian on her heels. She made her way to her locker, Killian behind her the entire way. Couldn't he just leave her alone for two minutes? They'd spent all morning together.

_Oh wait._

His locker was the one next to hers. Why, oh why, couldn't these lockers be alphabetized? Their names weren't even close!

"Fancy that, looks like we'll be seeing each other even more." Killian opened his locker, a small pirate flag floating out onto the tile floor. "Mm. If only I could nail it to the locker, maybe it would stay," he said, quickly looking to Emma before shoving it into her locker.

"Hey! I don't want it!"

"Think of it as a gift!" Killian opened his messenger bag and began swapping books as Emma examined the cloth.

"What is this from?"

"A concert. It's a rag from a t-shirt that didn't survive the wash, or my father."

"What concert?" Emma let in land in the back of her locker, not giving two-shits about a rag.

"The Jolly Rogers," he said. "Not to be confused with the Jolly Rancher." Apparently a country singer had stolen the indie band's name idea- at least Emma assumed it was indie, or maybe screamo, based on all she had learned of Killian. "They're an alternative rock group," he informed her. Okay, so she had been close.

"Why do you like them?" Emma asked, more to be polite than out of sheer interest… or so she pretended.

"I dunno, I just connect with them, y'know. I don't feel so lost and bloody alone."

"I know how bad that feels," Emma replied quietly to herself. Killian leaned against his locker and gave an elf-like grin that spread to his eyes and ears. "Well, neither of us has to be alone any more now, do we? We got each other now!" His voice was a bit too cheerful for her liking as he bunched his fist and did a little _hoorah _gesture. She rolled her eyes and looked around stiffly before slowly closing her locker. She began walking away. "See ya in class, Jones."

"Swim on, my Swan," he joked.

His sense of humor seemed a bit pitiful at times, at least with his jokes, but Emma still found herself laughing in that subtle way she always did, by simply exhaling more air than usual.

Mary-Margaret quickly pulled Emma to the side as she entered the classroom. "Whoa, chick, what'd I do?" Emma yanked her arm away from the girl, dressed way too floral for anyone, and shrugged her shoulders back.

"What did you _do_? You walked into school with _Killian flippin' Jones._" Mary-Margaret clutched her chest in what may have been agony, awe, or admiration, or perhaps a diagonal combination.

"Okay if you really just said flippin' I may be forced to hit you later. So what, I came to school with him? Sometimes timing happens that way, yeah?"

"He was smiling, Emma! You got Killian fl-…. Killian Jones to smile! You know how rare that is? He just doesn't do that!"

"Probably because he's too disgusted by the locals and their judgment," Emma responded, giving Mary-Margaret a cold shoulder as she made her way to her seat.

During class, Emma noticed the stares of shock, the long whispered conversations between her classmates. Weird. She'd been here yesterday, why were they just now taking notice of her? She didn't care what they thought, of course, she just found it abnormal compared to previous experiences. After class, she reluctantly spoke to Mary-Margaret again.

"Okay, so what if Jones smiles around me? He's a walking innuendo and I'm his new catchphrase."

"Oh Emma, but he doesn't flirt with girls. Not since- not for awhile." Mary-Margaret shut her mouth tight, turning her lips snow-white, as well as her knuckles which clenched her binder.

"Since what?" Emma asked her as she started getting away. Mary-Margaret turned to her, blankly looking at her own shoes, leaving Emma to ponder her next words:

"He hasn't smiled since Milah."


End file.
